Sweet as Pie
by ThePenPalHermits
Summary: Sophia is a spitfire. When the world starts to rage in that all too familiar war between hunters and the things that go bump in the night, she is all too ready to face the challenges head on, but when a green eyed hunter makes his way into her life, her world is turned upside down. Those Winchesters sure do have a way of bringing down the house. Literally. Dean/OC.
1. Chapter 1

A/N (Summary: Sophia is a spitfire. Hunting at her youth and raised by a slightly off kilter man named Bobby Singer from age 10 left her tough as nails. When the world starts to rage in that all too familiar war between hunters and the things that go bump in the night, Sophia is all too ready to face the challenges head on. Demons, witches, werewolves, and vampires are all well within her ability to face, but when a green eyed hunter makes his way into her life, her world is turned upside down. Those Winchesters sure do have a way of bringing down the house. Literally. Dean/OC.

Written by two college attending kiddos, so prepare to be patient! Posting will most likely take place during weekend and breaks. We're aspiring writers, so reviews are welcome! Thank you! Please read and review :-)

We do NOT own supernatural, but Sophia is our brain baby. Please do not use her character or our story without our permission! Enjoy.)

The last customers had left not twenty minutes ago, despite the fact that the diner had closed an hour before they left. It was because of them that at 11:20 at night Sophia was still cleaning the diner. It had been some celebration. A late night birthday party on a Tuesday night, celebrating a middle aged man. It had run on for hours and it was all she could do to keep the smile off her face. She didn't mind picking up their trash, wiping up spills, or tossing dirty dishes that were left on the tables and counters in the sink. She had already wiped down the kitchen. She had sent the cook, Jared, home as soon as the clock struck 10, knowing that he had a family to get too. She smiled at that, a ghost of one. Jared had two kids. It reminded her... The crush of wheels against the asphalt of the parking lot interrupted her meandering mind. She perked up, glancing out the wide windows at the front of her diner. The rag she had been washing the table with still in hand, she sauntered to the door, glancing to the ridge above the door that held a thick line of salt, hidden. She pushed the door open, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Hey buddy, we're closed."

The engine cut out and a despairing voice, however deep and gravely in tone, called, "You're joking!" Disappointment clouds over his face as he turned, resting his arms over the top of his ride "This is the first town I've seen in miles, and I've got a long drive ahead of me." His eyebrows pulled in a slightly dubious look, a smirk pulling his lips. "Think you could make an exception?"

She almost laughed, her amusement at his obvious flirting overcoming her irritation at his obvious disregard of the unlit 'open' sign. With an eye roll, she huffed, "Dude, you're lucky I'm nice." His grin split wider, as though he had won the lottery or something. "Come in, I'll make you some coffee." He shut the door, following her in.

She watched him closely as he passed with no issue through the salt line, her suspicion diminishing, though not completely fading. She glanced at the rag in her hand and, with a shrug, called, "Heads up."

He caught the soaked rag with a rather odd expression, taking in the trash that spanned over six tables, pushed together. Holy water didn't bother him. Maybe he _was_ just a regular flirt rolling in from wherever. "What, rough crowd? It's a mess."

"Birthday party. Thanks for reminding me." She huffed out a laugh. "We've got some pie left over. You seem like a pie guy. It's cherry. Want some?"

The coffee pot gurgled in the background. His eyes lit up and Sophia couldn't help but compare him to a child. "Yes, _please_."

"I'd offer you a menu, but I already cleaned the kitchen for the night and, well, I'm doing _you_ a favor… so deal." She pulled a plate from the stack near the register and a napkin wrapped bundle of _silver_ silverware. Only the best for her customers. "I'm Sophia, by the way."

The man, strong jawed, stubble covered, straight nosed… and rough around the edges. He looked like he had been through hell. She knew the look. "I'm... Jared."

There was a pause in his words, and she let a soft hum of disbelief. "Yeah. Sure. And I'm not stupid. Here's your pie."

At that, Not Jared - as that was most definitely not his name… he seemed too unfamiliar with it… and that same name resided on a nametag that hung on the real Jared's apron just behind her - grinned, pulling the plate to him. He rubbed his hands together in excitement, the chafing noise bringing Sophia's eyes down to his hands. They were calloused. She glanced down at her own, wiping down the counter where crumbs had fallen from his pie. Sophia had the same sort of rough hands from digging graves.

Not Jared was staring at his silverware with an odd look, and Sophia tensed. Shape shifter? Werewolf?

"Is this _real_ silver?" The man looked up and his eyes never quite made it to her eyes. And _his_ eyes left nothing up to the imagination in what _he_ was thinking. Sophia leaned forward, snatching a fork from the bundle he had yet to touch and slamming it down into the wood of the bar that showed similar score marks all down its length. His eyes snapped away from her chest and to her hands, a small 'whoa' jumping from his lips. Sophia lifted her hand and pointed to her eyes, the fork standing on the tines pressed into the wood. His eyes followed her gesture. "My eyes are up here, hot shot. I'm not some eye candy. If you can't behave, I'm gonna send you back outside _without_ your pie and coffee."

With that, she slid out from behind the counter, ignoring his eyes as she finished cleaning up the table that had housed nearly 24 people. Not Jared didn't speak for a long time, after a last muttered "well okay, then." He had pulled the fork from the bar and she could still hear it scraping across the plate as he ate. So… not a monster. Well, not the supernatural kind of monster. People were sometimes monsters too. But Sophia could handle a human with one hand tied behind her back.

She pushed against the mop with a final, half frustrated, half relieved huff, the last streak of water filling the room. _Finally_ finished. And despite the fact that it was, honestly, one of the more simple of her closing duties, mopping was _not_ her favorite. Sophia puts the mop in its bucket, striding across the diner, taking great care to avoid the slick spots of water. Not Jared was leaning back in his chair, a hand resting against the table, eyes pensive.

The severity of his gaze almost made Sophia offer him one of the beers from the back fridge or, at the very least, punch him in the nose. She decided to break his train of thought instead of his face. The last thing she needed was the police poking around. Sophia pulled her strawberry blonde hair up and off her front, into a high ponytail. "So, where exactly are you driving to?" That broke him from his thoughts rather effectively… though that may have been his sudden inhale mid drink. Sophia smirked at him, pulling the coffee pot from the heater and gesturing for his mug despite the sputtering and coughing he was emitting. She was _not_ gonna waste a whole pot of coffee.

"Uh, Stanford." He sounded choked, and she smirked, placing the pot back over the heat with a mild clank of the glass against the warming tray. He poured a _ton_ of sugar in his coffee and she made a face.

He didn't look like the college type. "And who's in Stanford?"

He instantly tensed, defensive. "What makes you think I'm going to find someone?" _Definitely_ not the college type. Sophia smirked as he sat the coffee aside.

"What can I say? Someone like you doesn't exactly fit the 'college' type. You're not a very quick learner." Sophia paused… perhaps that had been a tad harsh. She decided to change the subject rather abruptly. "So who is it?"

"Someone like me? What kind of person do you think I am?" Still defensive. Such a _man._ Sophia got insulted every day for her lack of stature or supposed inability to hold conversation because of her hair color, and you tell a guy he's not _the college type_ and he gets all touchy. And, in all honesty, Sophia was reaching the end of her rope with the way his eyes kept _dropping._

"Like I said. You aren't a fast enough learner for college." She growled. "When you _talk_ to someone, you look them in the eyes. And, despite what you _may think,_ my eyes _do not_ reside on my _chest._ So look me in the eyes before I put that fork," she gestured to the one resting on his pie plate in frustration, "In your chair. And this time, I don't miss."

"Okay! Okay, you got me." he raises his hands up in surrender. His eyes didn't fall again. Sophia felt herself relax. "I'm going to see my brother."

Sophia was surprised. He sounded _genuine_. "Oh, finally some honesty!"

His eyebrows shot to his hairline, and his hands spread wide, even as his smirk grew wider. "What do you mean? I've been completely honest!" Now it was her turn to show disbelief.

Sophia rolled her eyes and picked up the cook's apron, where Jared's name tag rested in plain sight. "Oh please, you started lying the second you told me your name." She laughed without humor, "Did you _really_ think I wouldn't notice? For heaven's sake, he's my fry cook!"

Not Jared shrugged, "I was starved for options."

She glared at him. "More like starved for pie and caffeine. If I don't see some honesty out of you soon, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." She didn't tack on the "or call the coroner" part that tugged at her tongue. This was a _civil_ conversation.

"Well I didn't know I was dealing with a hunter before I lied." … Or not… His tone and face had become serious as he sat forward, green eyes piercing.

"Of course I hunt. Have you looked around? We live in the boonies. The menu calls for _Fried Deer_. What are you? A genius?" Even as she began to talk, Sophia was panicking, her hands falling beneath the counter to touch the long machete that had been blessed by a priest and the pistol holding her special bullets. A witch? No, he had sat in the chairs without a pause… Vamp maybe. Her hands wrapped around the machete, watching him closely.

He sat back, rolling his eyes, his voice gruff. "That's not what I meant."

"You're going to have to be a bit clearer for me," she deadpanned.

"Hunter, as in you _kill_ _things_ , like I do, when things go bump in the night. The kind of things that nightmares are made of." he pauses for a second, noticing as her hands appeared above the bar once again and wondering at the arsenal that had, most likely, been at the tips of her fingers, "and you must think me stupid if you deny it. The salt? Holy water? The _silver._ For crying out loud, it screams hunter."

Sophia paused, her whole body shifting. "How did you…"

He grinned, leaning forward, his voice taking on a sultry and _annoying_ tone. "I'm just that good, Sweet cheeks."

And yet, his eyes flickered to her chest and back to her eyes. Sophia rolled her eyes, tugging at the collar of her v-neck and exposing the anti-possession tattoo. "It was the tattoo, wasn't it. Bet it took you 'til your second cup of coffee to notice, despite the fact that your eyes were glued to my chest half the time you've been here." His choking made sense now. As an afterthought… "My _name_ is _Sophia_. Don't call me 'sweet cheeks,' dumb*ss."

He raised his hands, grinning. "Caught me. Nice place you got here. Pretty well safe guarded. You've done some research. Though, isn't washing the table in holy water a little over the top?"

All the tension that had been building up within Sophia dissipated, "It's in the ice too. You never can be too careful," Sophia glances outside, "because the day you stop watching your own back is the day you die in this line of work." There's a second of silence as her words struck a chord in both of them "So, what's your real name?"

There was that grin again. Sophia rolled her eyes. "It's Dean."

The two shared a few stories, a lot of Dean's had his dad in them, and not much mentioned about a brother, though she sensed some bad blood between them. Even so, some of Sophia's stories seemed like child's play compared to all the death and destruction he and his father had seen. They traded secrets, such as how Sophia used demon symbols on the bottom of iron chairs in her diner to ward away demons and witches, and how Dean had an arsenal in the trunk of his impala. They didn't bring up relationships or loved ones lost, but they both could feel the sense of sadness in certain hunts. Chalk it up to Hunter's Intuition. All the while, they shared coffee from the same pot and, eventually, had dwindled the supply to a cup's worth at its bottom. Sophia had finished cleaning the diner near an hour before they finished talking, but, as the clock neared 12:30, she couldn't hold back her exhaustion anymore.

Sophia grabbed one of the to-go cups and topped it off with coffee, handing it to him with a tired, "Here, for the road." She practically shoved him out of the diner door, locking it behind them. "Good luck finding your dad and brother." Her words were genuine, though Sophia couldn't quite think about what she was saying, more focused on the heavy things in her left pocket.

But her mind snapped away from that quickly, when a large, tan hand appeared before her holding her _own phone_ as if it were some gift. She had paid good money for that! She suddenly didn't feel so badly. "When did you-"

"I snagged it when you were mopping, put my number in it." Dean wore what Sophia's grandmother would call a 'sh*t eating grin' as he dangled it in front of her. "You know Bobby Singer?"

Sophia almost snorted, snagging the phone away from him, "Honey, everyone knows Bobby Singer, he's the best go-to man there is." Dean chuckled, then paused, his hands in his pockets and eyebrows drawn in confusion, searching; perhaps she _had_ tortured him enough for one night. With a chuckle, she handed him his keys, "snagged them when you were ogling." he almost looked hurt, but she simply rolled her eyes. "What? They're just keys. I could have taken the car."

He gasped, and, for a moment Sophia wondered if it was _just_ mock anger in his voice. "Not my _baby!_ "

She rolled her eyes watching him get into his car.

Dean didn't even notice, so, with a sigh, Sophia leaned against the side, tapping the window's edge with his wallet. "Probably don't want to forget your wallet either. You wouldn't get far without your ID, _Hasselhoff_." she said the last part with sugar sweet sarcasm.

"Hasselhoff is awesome!" Dean says. There he was with the defensiveness again.

"Yeah sure, whatever." She laughs, "Anyway, you better get going. And, hey, don't worry about the pie and coffee. I skimmed enough off the top to pay for the to go cup and, I have to say, Dean, you tip extremely generously." She didn't pause to see the slight shock and overwhelming humor on his face. "Now get out of here. You've got a lot of driving to do." She backed away from the car with a small wave as it started with a roar.

"I guess you're right. Bye Sophia." Dean says, putting the car in gear.

She didn't know why, but for some reason, she felt closer to this hunter who she had only talked to for an hour or so than she ever had with the familiar faces of her customers. So, as an afterthought, she called, "My friends call me Sophie."

"Then, goodbye, Sophie!" Dean hollers back, that grin still in place as he drove away from her diner.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N (Hey guys! The second chapter is up and we hope you enjoy it!)

Exhausted, Sophia curled into her jacket and walked to the only vehicle left in the parking lot. Her 1990 chevy truck sat on it's low wheels, covered in dings, rust, and filth. She _loved_ this truck. Held so many memories of her and her brother. He wouldn't have stood for the dings and gathering rust, but since that day, Sophia hadn't had the heart to do anymore body work. Her brother had never let anyone touch the once glossy coat of cherry red. And the state it was in now disheartened her. She ran her hand down the stripe of pale cream that ran the length of the truck before pulling herself up into the cab and starting the engine. It started without a single sputter. She did the engine work, he did the body work, and, to be honest, Sophia still held the vain hope that her brother would show up one day and throw a fit at the shape of his baby. She smirked. Dean really was a lot like her brother. It made her smile, a sad little twitch of her lips before she pressed the clutch and drove from the parking lot, her thumb brushing over the ball of the gear shift that, impressed in the leather, held a demon protection sigil.

It took four minutes down the main road, and nineteen down the winding dirt road meeting her driveway. The sight of her small house bringing a small, sad smile to her lips. She killed the engine, knocking the stubborn door closed with her hip, the crash of the metal closing seeming to bring her to a pause. Gazing onto her property with a smile, Sophia had one thought rolling through her mind. While this place looked run down and showed sure signs of age, there was one thing stitched into every fiber of wood within those walls. And that word was _home._

There was a sweet smell to the air. The smell of oil from working on the old farm truck. The smell of dirt and mud. The smell of rotting leaves that had gathered from seasons passed. This place echoed in the silence of nature which, in of itself was never quiet.

She took a despondent step forward when she didn't see the screen door swing open before setting her shoulders and stepping towards the porch. If you looked carefully on the porch, you'd find the railings to have the finest thread of silver etched into the iron bars. There were flower pots filled with medicinal herbs and charms alongside the simple daisies and rose bushes. The peeling white paint raised to show the splintering boards beneath which juxtaposed harshly against the well maintained swing that hung at the end of the porch. If you were looking for the signs, you would be able to spot the large hunting knife that was patched onto the bottom of the swing and you may even realize that the gun hanging on the wall was not just a prop.

As Sophia walks up the groaning steps of her home, she fidgets with the keys in her pocket, pulling the screen door open and bracing against it as she jammed the key into the lock, letting a few foul words spill in anger when it refused to give. It had a tendency to get finicky just when she was ready for bed. As if it were agitated to be woken in the middle of the night… if locks slept… and if she wasn't so sleep deprived that a sleeping lock seemed to be a _normal_ thing… Sophia rolled her eyes at the lost train of thought and pushed inside her home with a little more force than necessary, pulling her coat off and hanging it quickly on the rack after closing the door.

She flicks on the lights, illuminating her small living room. "Home sweet home." She muttered her words in half sarcasm, half relief as she tossed her keys with a practiced motion into the bowl by the door. With a sigh, she turns the iron and silver locks with ease, checking the saltline out of habit. Sometimes Sophia wondered if _just maybe_ her obsession with those three supernatural repellants was a little over the top, but all she had to do to press those thoughts from her mind was remember how many times it had saved her life. She may be obsessive, but _not_ crazy.

Two steps towards the couch and Sophia paused, her whole face screwing up into an expression of absolute disgust and mild wariness. " _Please_ don't let that rank be me…" She groans as the smell wafts up from her own clothes, " _gross!"_ Slightly disgusted and completely irritated, Sophia walks towards her room, passing the large bookshelf filled with titles of "Mythology" and "Lore" and a large china cabinet that held some of her most prized possessions… bullets and knives, many etched with demon symbols or blessed by wiccans, priests, or good old angles, and guns, ranging from her favorite shotgun to an AK 47.

She walks over the stained carpet - Sophia had debated moving to hardwood floors multiple times, but knew she would have to do the install herself due to the fact that the entire floor beneath the carpet was a patchwork of demon traps. She didn't want to deal with all the raised eyebrows. - towards the master bedroom. It still felt odd to enter into the room without knocking. The feeling would take a long time to fade, if it ever did.

Sophia wandered towards the stack of clean, unfolded clothes resting in a rather large mound on the hickory wood chest at the base of her bed. The large windows let in just enough moonlight that she didn't have to switch on the light as she tugged free a spaghetti strap tank top and soft shorts from the left of the pile. Just because no one could see the system didn't mean it didn't exist. Sophie smiled at the thought, pulling past the double bed and into the small master bath for a _much needed_ and _well deserved_ shower.

Despite the fact that the near scalding water felt like heaven, Sophia kept it quick, pulling on her sleepwear and practically dragging herself to the cool blue bedspread, not even worrying to pull the covers over herself. She felt safe with the three demon traps etched into the floors and the salt lines hidden in the groves above the windows and doors. And with the softest sigh of exhaustion, Sophia felt herself drift into a dreamless sleep in a manner much quicker than usual.

While Sophia would deny it _to this day_ , she woke with a rather loud, rather unladylike - not that she _really_ cared, but still - snort. She had forgotten to draw the curtains on the large windows in her room and immediately came to regret that decision, her eyes scrunching up in a mix of agitation and pain. When the blankets refused to come out from under her in her scramble to cover her face, Sophia gave up, searching for her phone which she had never in her 21 and a half years of life _ever_ managed to put on the nightstand. And while it was obvious it would be easier to find the small square of metal, glass, and plastic in the morning if she had put it on the stand, she just never managed to.

With bleary eyes, Sophia came to realize that the digital clock said it was nearing seven o'clock. That, however, wasn't what had her groaning in agitation and rolling to a sitting position, the palm of her left hand rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Seriously? I can't sleep in for one day without 16 missed calls and 20 messages. _20 messages? Really?_ " She growled. "Angila?! I swear! That girl has no common sense!" Angela had worked for Sophia now for three weeks. And she _still_ couldn't figure out how to run the coffee machine. The _coffee machine._ It _wasn't rocket science!_ She was sure to send Jared anytime Angila worked. They sort of balanced each other out… usually.

Sophia rolled her eyes, the memory of burning coffee and eggs filling her mind. Honestly, how helpless could one be unable to work a coffee machine after three weeks? With a sigh, Sophia pulled herself to her full height, her back cracking and popping in agitation as it called for her to sleep and let the aches and pains leave more fully. Instead of listening to the urge to crash back into the warmth of the blankets, Sophia reaches for the pile of clothes at the end of the bed and tugging on a random t-shirt and jeans. She debated calling Angila, but quickly backtracked at the thought of hearing the young woman melt down _once again_ over something that truly wasn't that big of an issue. She sent a quick message to Jared, warning him that it would be around thirty minutes before he would have backup, as she snatched up the duffle by the door.

When she had to deal with idjits like Angila early in the mornings on her day off, taking her duffle was a good, surefire way to ensure that maybe, just maybe, she could kill some _thing_ instead of some _one_. She tossed it gently across the cab of the truck and shut her door, staring up at the lightening sky and taking deep breaths before starting the engine of her truck and tossing it into gear, taking her sweet time in driving towards her diner.

Sophia was a strong woman. To her, there was no doubt about that. But when it came to plain ol' _stupidity_ Sophia tended to lose it just a tad. When her workers came in and left a mess behind, or when _Angila_ \- don't get her wrong, Sophia knew Angila was a well meaning girl. She had been given the job when her momma had fallen ill. Angila tried… but sometimes she just made decisions that simply did not make sense - lost her head two hours into a shift, Sophia tended to lose that calm, near southern belle charm and, instead, got hot headed and agitated easily. So when it came to days like today, a good hunt was much needed and well deserved.

About two miles from the diner, Sophia began to relax. She chortled slightly, "Well, I don't see any smoke…"

She pulled behind the building slowly, parking in her spot at the back of the diner and waltzing into it as if she owned it, which she did. The kitchen seemed in order, thank heavens, but the look up utter desperation written on Jared's face made her pause warily.

His hands were full as he looked to be both serving _and_ cooking. Sophia quirked an eyebrow in mild humor. "Sophie! Boss! Um, ah, Angila… She's having issues with the coffee pot, but I've been so slammed back here. She's been crying all morning!"

Sophia took the deepest, most calming breath she could muster. How could someone be so… so… _blonde?_ And that was _coming from a blonde!_ Angila was the _reason_ her hair color was demeaned as… Sophia cut the thought process down before she began to see red. "Take a smoke break, Jared. You could use a moment. I'll get these orders out and have a little chat with the kid." Sophia grimaces slightly. She never did well with tears, but… "I'll handle it."

Jared, the intelligent man he was, didn't give her a moment to think about taking back her words as he shoved the plates into her hands with fervor and tossed open the back doors, grumbling the whole way. Sophia bit back a small grin at that before sighing and making her way to the bar. The place was near empty with her three early morning regulars. She didn't need told whose plate was whose. She simple passed them the plates and told them, with an apologetic tone, that she would have their coffee right out to them. Breakfast, for the twelth time in three weeks was on the house. She made enough from the lunch crowd anyhow.

With as calm a tone as she could muster, Sophia called, "Angila, sweetie, come here a sec." Angila was struggling to clear a table, her shoulders shaking slightly. It took everything in Sophia _not_ to put the fear of God and everything else holy into this little girl _right now_ for her behavior. Another deep breath.

Angila stumbled towards her boss, nearly dropping the dishes she had gathered, her eyes wide and teary. "Oh, Sophia! Thank goodness you're here!" She rushes forward, tossing the bussing tray onto the bar and wrapping her skinny arms around her boss. She was hiccuping sobs. "I.. just… can't get… the coffee... machine… to work!"

 _Why was it that Angila believed she could simply_ _ **hug**_ _Sophia every time she saw her!?_ Again, Sophia took a deep breath, gently pulling away. "Angila, darlin'… what's wrong with the coffee?"

A silent mantra played in Sophia's head. _Don't make her cry. Don't make her cry. Don't make the poor girl_ cry! She answered with a shaky voice. "The coffee is all gritty! And I know I washed the pot!"

"Did you use filters?"

Her wide, dull grey eyes went wide. "What…? Filters?"

 _ **Don't make her cry.**_

"Yes, Angila. This pot uses coffee filters."

The tears began to spill over her cheeks and Sophia felt the urge to run. "Oh. My. Heavens! I can't believe! Miss Sophia I'm _so sorry!_ I always forget and then I just…. I'm so sorry!"

Sophia internally groaned. _Now you've done it, Sophia. Good going._ "Don't worry, Angila. Just make a new pot right quick and make sure everything is in tip top shape. I needed to come in anyhow before I left out." Not that the plan to leave even occurred to her before she found 16 missed calls, but that was beside the point. Either way Sophia needed to write out the checks for the past week of work and leave them with Jared. Pay day was today. It was a good excuse to check in on the diner every day and make sure that the traps and saltlines were still in place.

Angila finally let go, hefting the bussing trey and asking with wide eyes, "You're going hunting again?"

The excited tone in Angila's voice made Sophia smirk. All of her employees had it in their heads that when Sophia took off to hunt out of season that she went to some other country. She never came into work empty handed, but more to the point, she did everything legally. She only called her supernatural hunting trips _hunting_ during deer, turkey, duck or some other time of meat-in-seasons. Otherwise she kept up the facade that she was visiting some uncle off across the world. Today though, it was time to hunt both the creatures of darkness and the critters that made this wonderful world go 'round.

Sophia nodded and moved past the young woman who seemed too much like a girl. There were checks to write while she was gone for the few employees she had. As she walked past the kitchen, Sophia took note of the strong smell of cigarette smoke that clung to her cook.

Jared glanced up and it was obvious that he had been in for a moment, eavesdropping when he asked, "How long are you gonna be gone this time?"

That paused her. Usually Jared knew the drill. "Until I get something. Like always…" Sophia felt a splash of suspicion before shaking the thought away and saying, "Anyway, I've got a few errands to run in town before leaving after I write out your checks. So if anything comes up, give me a call, alright?"

Sophia thought of the dwindling number of bullets she had left in her duffle of everything-under-the-sun. She needed the regular sort for the regular hunting trip she was going to be taking soon. She did all her own specialty bullets herself, too paranoid to have anyone pack in the appropriate amounts and materials.

The cluttered mess of a desk in the back room was, to her, rather easy to search through. She found the checks with ease, writing them out and putting them in the lock box. Jared knew the code and she trusted him to give the appropriate checks to the appropriate people.

Without truly checking the troughs above the doors, Sophia filled them with salt, though to anyone else it would look as though she was dusting before she left for her last minute hunting trip. She tossed a quick goodbye over her shoulder, and smiled softly at the chorus of "Goodbye!" "Stay safe!" and "Bring back the grub, Sophia!"

The diner would always hold a special place in her heart and, as such, deserve her protection. Sophia could feel the excitement and adrenaline pooling through her veins just at the _thought_ of getting away from home and getting out that pent up energy in the _best way possible._ Saving lives and killing the things that take them.

To say _town_ may be a bit of an exaggeration when it came to the five shops clustered together in the center of Twin Brooks. But as it was, there was very little that you couldn't get from the small shops. One was owned by a farmer who sold his too ripe fruit and veggies at a stand between the Gas Station/Grocery Store, and the "Boots, Guns, and Glory," which carried everything from flannel shirts and jeans to muck boots and bullets. There were a couple of others, one being an auction junction and the final store was filled with farming equipment. All in all, to survive, you didn't really need to leave the town. Sophia's diner filled up the locals on days the families didn't want to cook or, if you were like the sheriff, you simply had enough with cooking your own dinners.

The roar of the engine of her chevy cut off after she pulled into the parking lot of "Boots Guns and Glory." To be honest, this little treasure trove was like honey to the starving man. It was honest trade and, all in all, a good way to socialize with stubborn old geezers who reminded her too much of her adopted dad.

A single bell rang sharply as Sophia entered, giving a quick shout out of, "G'mornin' Jarry, ya old coot!"

The elderly man, with thinning white hair and a grey beard gave a sharp, slightly sarcastic gasp. "Why, you little hooligan. What do you want from me this time? Can't you see? I ain't got much hair left for you to take!"

With that, Sophia felt her smile soften as she leaned across the counter and pulled the older man into a hug. "It's good to see you, Jarry."

Jarry hugged back, patting her back lightly, seeming slightly uncomfortable, but resigned to the fact that he was going to be hugged by this stubborn woman. "How are ya Soph?"

At that, Sophia couldn't contain the exhausted sigh that pulled from her chest. "It's been a morning."

Jarry grinned, showing off his teeth, which were very little after so long a life. "Lil' Angie havin' one o' those mornin's?"

His chuckle was met with an eye roll. "She's a good kid. Don't get me wrong, but… she didn't use coffee filters!" She was quickly falling to anger and decided to change the subject rather abruptly. "So. You got in anything new?"

Jarry's eyes lit up with that child-like excitement, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes pulling upwards. "Depends on what you mean by new!" The man bent down to latch hold of something beneath the counter, his eyes alight with wonder. "I've been saving this for you. Hopin' you'd come by before Sheriff caught wind of me havin' it without a permit. It came in earlier this morning. 'Round five." With a grunt, Jarry heaved a large hunk of wood, metal, and _glory_ onto the table.

Sophia felt herself pause, as if her heart skipped a beat and her breath refused to move. She could barely whisper as she stared in awe at the _Tommy Gun_ resting on the glass topped table. "Is that… what I think it is?"

"Ain't she a beauty?" Jarry was grinning ear to ear, his hand hovering over the butt of the gun.

Sophia could feel herself glowing in awe at the sheer beauty of the gun of mobsters and mayhem… "She really is." What that would do for _her._ Sophia was practically drooling when she asked, softly, "How much? What do you want for her?"

Jarry gave her one of those knowing looks, his belly jiggling with soft laughter. "I got it for you, Soph. I know you got a permit for every gun under the sun… and _technically_ it's illegal for me to sell it to you. So how about you have your cook whip me and my wife up some dinner, and we call it even, yeah?"

Sophia would have rolled her eyes at the man's antics if not for the fact that she was stunned by the beautiful piece of machinery being offered to her at next to nothing. "Are you… sure?"

Jarry didn't even pause before he turned, grabbing a random ribbon from beside the register - it, like all the other ribbons and bows, sat in that exact place all year long for special occasions and holidays - and stuck it haphazardly to the wood of the gun.

Sophia needed no more persuasion. "What do ya have a hankerin' for, Jarry?"

The broken toothed man grinned wider, and said, "I want ya to bring us some of that ol' deer meat n' some mashed potatoes." he took a moment to think, his eyes just above her left shoulder as if he were teasing Sophia. "Oh, and some of your pie."

Sophia offered her hand, a little breathless from the whole ordeal. "Deal. I'll… I'll have Angila bring it to you around, say, 6?"

The older man nodded, "Go on! Take her for a spin!" In a secretive, shaky tone, he whispered, "Let me know what you think of it!"

Sophia lifts the beautiful piece of machinery into her arms, offering a large grin to the man she considered a close friend. "Indeed I will, Jarry! Do you have the ammo I ordered?"

He nodded and they exchanged money for ammo, Sophia giving the man a gentle goodbye, her grin wide.

He called out behind her, "Bye, Soph! Keep out of trouble!"

As she was loading the truck, her phone let out a shrill call, breaking her from her thoughts of hunting. Her eyes flashed in exasperation at the sight of Angila's number on her phone. She internally debated ignoring the call before sighing and flipping it open. She may have sounded a tad too harsh when she answered, "Yes?"

Angila's voice crackled to life across the phone line, "Hey, Sophia… Um…" Something sounded odd about her voice and Sophia felt her hackles raise in confusion and in a protective instinct. "The, uh, the cash register is stuck again… and I'm sorry to bother you, but… I don't want to break it…"

Sophia ran a hand down her face, taking a deep breath when she heard sniffling from the other end of the line. "Have you had Jared take a look at it?"

Angila paused for a moment before she said softly, "He isn't sure either."

Sophia sighed, pulling herself up into the truck. The clock on the dash said it was barely noon. "Okay. I'll be there in 10. Just… Just hold it together Angila, alright? It isn't the end of the world."

Sophia sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before pausing. The phone just clicked off. No goodbye, no apology... Something was going on. Angila was usually more apologetic… She tended to run on and on about how she hates giving issues… and yet, she just went and… _hung up?_ Sophia shook her head, starting the engine with a roar and pulling out from the store, her instincts screaming. Sophia had learned a long time ago never to question the simple tug of instinct at the base of her belly.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N (Hey guys! Once again, we do not own Supernatural, but Sophia is our bundle of p*ss and vinegar and we aren't afraid of pitching a hissy fit over her! Hope you enjoy this chapter!)

Ten minutes was too short a time for how long the drive seemed to feel.

The crunch of her tires on the gravel of the parking lot had her breaking from her thoughts, searching for the source of Angila's distress. The diner was full with the lunch time rush… wait.

Sophia flung the truck into park, slamming open the cherry red door, her hand resting on a gun at her hip. Something was most _definitely_ wrong. The lights were off in the diner… in the middle of the day. Sophia, unsure of the issue at hand, stepped quickly, pushing the door of the diner open, squinting suddenly at the darkness. The blinds were all drawn, no light pouring through. She scrambled to grab the flashlight she always kept in her left pocket, flicking it on quickly. Her gun was primed and ready, the barrel of the Glock 26 staring out like a third eye.

Horror fell through her faster than water through a siv. In front of her was Angila, tied to one of the iron chairs at the bar. At her feet, the Sheriff lay, dead. Another body was at the edge of her flashlight and Sophia turned, a pained cry tearing from her lips. It was Jarry's wife. Caroline.

Soft cries brought her back to focusing on what she did best. Saving. Sophia took a step forward, and Angila began to shake her head sharply, her eyes wide and over her right shoulder muffled yells coming through the crude gag around her mouth. Instantly, Sophia began to turn, but she didn't get the chance.

Something hard struck her at the back of her head and she collapsed, unconscious.

Nausea was overwhelming as Sophia opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling as it spun. _What_ did she _drink?!_ This hangover was worse than the one when... Wait.

Sophia pulled against the ropes tying her to the chair. Adrenaline struck away the dizziness and sickness as she attempted to focus her eyes on the moving object in front of her. Not an object. Jared.

Coughing slightly, Sophia looked up at him in confusion. "Jared? What… Why are you…?"

His bright blue eyes flicked to black, and his voice, twisted from that calm tone and kindness, to masochistic, twisted anger. "He's not home anymore, Sophie."

Sophia growled. "Get out of him you son of a gun."

Sophia scrambled for an explanation. The diner was monster proof, _demon_ proof! Her head spun with confusion and pain. Her gun was by the door, small and useless.

The demon tilted Jared's head until his neck cracked angrily. "Hm… let me think about it." The demon leaned forward, Jared's forehead inches from her own. "You know, I think I like this skin. Jared's got a family, doesn't he? Two little girls? A precious wife? Wouldn't it be just a _charm_ if I went and _visited them?_ "

Sophia leaned back, then threw her head forward, knocking her head against the demon's. Her head began to spin again as it fell away, cursing. Maybe headbutting when you had a concussion wasn't such a great idea. But it did the trick, getting him far enough away that she could continue to saw the ropes against a loose metal screw of the iron chair.

The demon in Jared began to laugh, a gravely, terrifying tone. "You know, you're a _very_ paranoid person." His grin grew. "The salt? The demon traps? It's a tad overkill, don't you think?"

Sophia took a deep, shaking breath, attempting to see past the twirling of her vision, her hands still sawing. It was slow going. _Too slow_.

"How did you get into my diner." Her words were shaky with anger

He grinned widely, his teeth bloody. "It was really _too simple_. See, I possessed your little _fry cook_ here, and just slipped right in. None the wiser." He grabbed Angila's face, his eyes sharp. "Little Angila here, all I had to do was ask her to dust this morning. One phone call. And the salt line above your door was gone! Then you come in here and lock me in this grease trap. Not very nice."

Angila whimpered, closing her eyes, tears pouring down her face, the gag muffling her cries.

Sophia tried to gain his attention again. If she could just get these ropes off, she knew she'd be able to subdue him and start the exorcism. As it was, she was at his mercy. One wrong word, and Sophia knew the demon would kill herself and Angila. The world spun, but she pushed that and the nausea aside, forcing her words to be strong. "Why are you here. What do you want?"

She figured there was no real rhyme or reason to his being here. She figured that, being a hunter, this sort of thing came with the job.

She figured wrong.

"I'm looking for a little _Winchester_. You seen one around here? Terrible sense of humor? A thing for pie?"

Sophia felt a grand sense of protection for her fellow hunter. So she told the truth. "I don't know anyone by that name." Well… she _didn't._ Dean never did give her his last name. But he did have a thing for pie...

The demon lunged forward, ripping her and the chair up. Sophia let a sharp gasp when the weight of the chair yanked at her arms. "Don't play _games_ if you don't like _losing,_ little _Sophia._ "

Grunting from pain, Sophia prepared for the demon to pause, stuck in the trap that was etched into the base of the chair...

But he let loose, and the chair clanged back onto the floor. At her surprised, suddenly anxious expression, the demon gave a thick, sickening laugh. "You thought you could catch me in that tiny demon trap of yours? _You thought wrong._ Angila was _easily_ persuaded. That demon trap is gone. Have any other tricks up your sleeve? No?" His grin disappeared and Sophia recognized the look in his eye. She sawed at the ropes with even more fervor.

"I know he was here. He's looking for the same person I am. Where did he _say_ he was _going_?"

Sophia huffed in anger, "I don't know what you're talking about." The adrenaline was helping her focus. She needed these ropes off _now._

The hit came out of nowhere, straight in her middle. Sophia didn't have time to tense of anything, and she took it, full force, to the sternum.

Sophia gagged, forcing herself not to do more than whimper, her eyes watering in pain. "What does… this have to do… with Angila?"

The demon laughed, a twisted expression taking up Jared's face. Sophia could hardly bare to watch that thing puppeting her friend. "Well, I've had my fair share of run ins with you _hunters._ And I'm a little short on time. So, if working on _you_ for answers doesn't start working, I'm going to have to start getting creative." Sophia grimaced at the thought, becoming desperate. Yes, Angila could be a handful, but in the three weeks she had worked at the diner, Sophia had gained respect for her kind nature. She didn't deserve _this._ No one deserved this.

The demon picked up a silver fork from a knocked over tray. "How did you put it? 'Next time I won't miss?' You use that line on all the misbehaving boys. Especially for little Angie's sake."

Sophia couldn't contain the howl of pain as the demon jammed the fork into her mid thigh.

But it was a blessing in disguise.

Her yelp of pain became a growl of release when she managed to rip free of her bonds, the rope snapping. She shoved the demon backwards with her arms, tripping him with her feet so he fell. She turned desperately to Angila, yanking the gag from the girl's mouth, yelling with all she had, "Is there a demon trap still left in tact?!"

"Sophia, I'm scared. What… what's happening. Why is Jared like this?"

Sophia shook the girl with a tad more force than she meant. "Angila! Focus! Is there still a…."

She didn't get to finish before she felt her legs come out from under her, her head smacking into the ground sharply. The world was spinning, and she couldn't hear. There was too much ringing in her own head. She felt something sharp and she blinked, attempting to focus.

Sophia was lying on the ground next to the glass display case that was filled with dismembered pastries. She hadn't been there a moment ago… what... Glass was raining down on her, but she couldn't feel. She couldn't focus. There was too much rolling around in her head. It was like her mind was detached from her body and she couldn't get it to _move._

Her entire body rebelled as she attempted to stand, bent double, unable to hold back the need to purge everything from her stomach. Her body coughed, but Sophia didn't feel much in control. The world was dipping and spinning sharply.

But one thing did register through the fog of her mind and that was the image of Angila, torn up from her bonds and being held with a knife to her throat.

If Sophia could be any more sick than she was in that moment, it would have been then.

Sophia's voice echoed dully in her ears, her words slightly slurred, but she pushed forward. "What… do you want."

"I want you to tell me where he went. Or the girl gets it." Sophia felt a cool sense of dread, and, worse, she felt she had no other choice.

"Okay. Alright. Just… Just put the knife…." Sophia paused as the demon in Jared tightened the blade against the girl's neck. Sophia swallowed, nodding slowly. "Okay… okay… He said... " Sophia swallowed back the revulsion she felt for telling this demon. "He said he was going to Stanford. That's all I know! I swear!"

The demon relaxed then, his smile widening to sickening proportions. "I believe you."

The knife slashed through the girl's throat and Sophia screamed, lunging for the gun beneath the counter, filled with bullets etched with demon traps. She didn't think, just shot, catching both the demon and, therefore, Jared straight in the chest.

With her breath breaking in shaking sobs, Sophia stumbled forward, the demon's screams echoing dully through her ears, as if she were under water. With shaking, slurred words, she began the exorcism. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Adiuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae perditionis venenum propinare._ Go back to hell, you slimy _rat._ "

And it did, the spirit of the angry demon rising up almost in slow motion, Jared dropping to the ground dead. Sophia gagged again, doubling over, her head making it near impossible to think.

But then she heard a sharp pop, like the sound of when a pilot light ignites.

Flames jumped forward, engulfing the kitchen, the heat near blistering and taking her breath away.

She stumbled, barely able to keep standing, her one thought being to _get away._ The fire was engulfing her diner, her way of _life._ And there was nothing she could do but stumble over the dead bodies of her friends and customers. Nothing she could do but fling open the broken, bent glass door of the diner. Nothing she could do but sob as she stumbled to her truck, the world spinning, and drive. She only made it a few miles down the road before she had to pull over, the motion of the truck paired with the spinning in her head causing her to double over retching, her body hanging out the window before she could manage to pull the stubborn door open. She threw up so hard that tears spilled down her face.

She coughed, forcing herself to focus. What came first. Something tugged at her fuzzy mind. Something important.

Sophia blinked hard, pulling herself up by the door of her car. Her phone sat, unharmed, on the seat of her truck. Her left leg nearly gave out from under her with the pain building up in it and the length of her back. But she couldn't focus on it. Her head spun too badly.

Something important…

She touched her phone, clicking through the numbers, looking for the name 'Bobby' but finding a different one. Dean. He was a hunter… Something about… that demon… was looking for… for… Dean's brother. Fear fell down Sophia's back like a bucket of cold water. _Not his brother._

The phone began to give off the small tone that signified that it was connecting the call. It rang twice, before a voice answered, shouting over the song so he could be heard over... was that Thunderstruck?

"Yeah?" His voice was way too chipper.

Sophia blinked. What was she doing…?

"Who is this?" The music disappeared.

Oh… right. "Dean?"

There was a pause. "Sophie? I knew you'd call. Couldn't get enough of me?"

Sophia stumbled, managing to catch the edge of her seat, pulling herself into the truck. "Dean… your brother 's 'n dnfger." Her words slurred together

Concern pooled into Dean's tone. "Sophia? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Taking a deep, shaking breath, Sophia whimpered, "Your brother… is… in danger, Dean."

"Sammy? Sophia, what are you talking about?" Dean's voice was strained.

Didn't he understand? "Demon…" His _brother_ was _in danger._ Didn't he understand? _His brother._

Dean's voice called from her phone, calling her back to attention. "A demon? Are you okay, Sophia?"

Sophia slurred her words again, shaking from the strain of talking. "Brother…" Tears slipped down her face. What she wouldn't do for her brother right now. Chrissy. Her Christopher.

"I'm on my way to Sam. Sophia, _are you okay?_ " His voice snapped her back to reality. She was sitting in her truck. She turned the key in the ignition, the roar of the engine giving her some clarity.

"Yeah. I'm… okay. Hit my head. I'm going to Bobby's. Get to your brother... fast." Sophia hung up then, figuring she was more of a distraction than an asset when she felt like her head was screwed on backwards and upside down.

With a shaking hand, Sophia put the truck in gear, gunning the engine. She would have heard dim sirens in the background if it hadn't been for the ringing in her ears. It took everything in her not to just pull over and take a nap.

She took up a dim mantra in her head that said, _Two hours. Bobby is two hours away._

There was very little in the way of traffic on her way towards her home away from home. Almost straight south. Bobby was there. Sophia kept her mind on target, her head spinning so sharply that she could barely manage anything more than changing gears and moving forward. It was on days like today that she cursed her love of standard transmissions.

It fluttered through her mind once or twice that it may not have been the best idea to drive in her condition. The fact that every once in a while, the entire world seemed to dip sideways wasn't helping her prognosis any. There was blood spilling over her jeans from the spot on her leg and if Sophia shifted too much, she would press glass further into her skin. She didn't feel it, though. No, her head was spinning much too fast for her to even think of pain.

All she could think of was getting to Bobby.

Bobby would know what to do.

Bobby was a fine friend of hers. Well, truly, he was more like an uncle or father than friend. When Sophia's brother had disappeared, Bobby had taken her under his wing. He had picked her up, got her sober, and set her back on her feet, telling her to 'do what you do best and save people.' And she had. Sophia had been saving lives since she could hold a gun. Nearly her whole life. It was a family business. It was a family demise.

Sophia coughed, a hand curling around her middle, before the engine began to rev a little too loudly and she changed gears, focusing on the road again. She just had to make it to Bobby's. A highway sign said _Sioux Falls 30 miles._ Thirty miles on a highway at 60 miles per hour. Thirty minutes to Bobby's house. _Thirty minutes._

Sophia coughed again, shifting down. She could see the city lights in the distance. She needed to avoid main roads. Just _get to Bobby's._

The path to his house was so well etched into her memory that Sophia didn't really have to think. She turned off the main road and onto a small off the way sort of road. She focused herself for one last turn, the sign, _Singer Salvage Yard_ was the last thing she could see, as she let off the gas, put the truck into neutral, and rolled down his driveway.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: (We're still alive! It's been a tough couple of weeks with tests and stuff, but we survived to this weekend and are _proud_ to present this weeks chapter! Fair warning, we haven't had much of a chance to work on it, so updates may be sporadic and slow, but we hope you enjoy! Thank you for all your support! And please remember that Sophia is our brain child, and we have no rights to Supernatural at all. Though we are jealous of the characters and plot line... We're gonna tell ya right off, if we owned Supernatural, Sophia would be the main character! Guuuess that's what fanfics are for. Anyway, enjoy!)

Without anything keeping her from falling to the concussion's intense dizzy spells and exhaustion, Sophia slumped forward, her head pressing into the horn on the steering wheel.

Now, Bobby Singer was an odd character. He was a tad gruff around the edges and if you didn't look too hard, you might mistake him as just some hick out in the country collecting cars and paying his taxes. In all honesty, Bobby was much more. (And he only paid taxes when reminded by the local police.)

He was smart as a whip and could usually define the supernatural with one glance. To those who knew him as a hunter, he was one of the best. One of the most well read. And today was no different. In fact the flash of headlights into his window was interrupting him mid thought as he looked up from one of the oldest new books in his collection. He stood slowly, reaching for his shotgun carefully.

The crash that came after had Bobby running to the door, his eyes wide. A horn blared incessantly. "What in sam hell?!"

Tossing the door open, Bobby felt in stomach hit his toes at the sight of the 1990 cherry red chevy truck sticking in the side of one of his junkers. His voice was shrill with terror as he jumped from his porch, the gun forgotten. "Sophia?!" She _loved_ that truck. Said it was because of the color, but Bobby knew it was because it was a piece of her brother still with her to this day. And seeing it smashed, albeit at a low speed, into the side of another car had the man shaking in fear. "Darlin' answer me! Are you alright?" He yanked at the stubborn car door handle, eyes alight with worry. She was slumped forward covered in blood. It streamed from the back of her head, down her neck. Her back was staining the red interior of the truck a dark, ugly brown. His heart shuddered in his chest. He lifted a shaking hand, pressing it to her neck carefully. She had a pulse.

With his hands still shaking from the slowly abating fear, Bobby pulled his girl from the truck with an, "Oomph," tossing her over his shoulder as best he could. Something hard pressed against him in his chest and he saw a fork, _a fork,_ imbedded in the flesh of her thigh. His heart broke, but more to the point, his entire frame shook. Sophia was one of the most cautious hunters he knew. She marked every chair, kept holy water in the ice, had salt above every door. He had seen her set up. He had been _impressed_ by it. Astounded even, at the quirky tricks that just might work.

Yet here she was.

That didn't bode well for the rest of them.

He moved towards his house, whispering softly to the girl who had, in some ways, stolen his heart like her brother had all those years ago when they had showed up at his door. "What happened to ya, Soph? How… _how_ did this happen?"

She didn't answer, though, still unconscious.

Bobby shoved the door open, carrying the girl into his home. She weighed much more now than she had nearly seven years ago, when he last carried her. She had some meat on her bones. Some muscle. She had grown into her gangly legs and arms. Sophia had become a woman, and Bobby hadn't even had the chance to see it.

Bobby was well prepared to set the girl down onto the soft cushions of his couch before he noticed the quality it was in. It looked like one too many people had died on the couch and, if he was being honest, it was probably not the most sanitary places to lay the sickly girl. "Maybe I should pull out the dustpan more often. Good grief."

Throwing curses under his breath, Bobby heaved himself and Sophia into the kitchen, yanking the table cloth and everything with it off and onto the floor, ignoring the was stuff scattered around the room. Carefully, Bobby pulled the girl he called family from his shoulder, easing her to the table to rest on her right side. As soon as she was still and Bobby was sure she wouldn't fall from the table, he moved to snatch the first aid box from beneath the sink, grabbing some vodka as well.

His thought was, if it's alcohol you need, it might as well serve a dual purpose. He knew this was going to hurt and figured it was better to be prepared with some straight up knock out pain relief.

The most obvious damage was the glass at her back, but in order to best get a look at that, Sophia would have to rest on her front. So Bobby assessed, rather quickly, that the fork needed to go. Now. He braced one hand on her knee and the other over the fork, muttering, "Brace yourself, Soph, if you can hear me." He yanked the fork free, grimacing at the amount of resistance there. Sophia didn't move. She was dead to the world.

Quickly, Bobby covered the wound, after pouring alcohol over it and then turned her to her front.

Bobby had seen it all. He'd seen death, and he'd seen the dying, but it didn't compare to seeing a girl he considered his own adopted child unconscious, beat to hell, and bleeding. With a straight up grimace, Bobby brushed his thoughts away and focused on patching Sophia up.

His biggest concern was with the glass piece lodged into the back of her thigh. Bobby grimaced, thinking of how that must have hurt her, sitting in that bumpy truck for hours on end. It was close to the femoral artery… wasn't it? He never really payed attention in anatomy class. But first aid was ingrained in him. He left a soft breath, "This is gonna sting, Soph." He poured the vodka over the wound, but she didn't flinch. It worried him, how deeply _out_ she was. He tugged the piece of glass slowly from her leg, watching carefully, praying that he wouldn't cause more damage. When the blood continued to ooze at the reasonable pace, Bobby let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thank the lord above. You're gonna be alright, girl." With careful, measured movements, he stitched her leg carefully, after pouring some more alcohol over the wound. "Well, you ain't gonna bleed to death."

It was then that the girl began to move, her hands pulling into soft fists, a groan pulling from her throat.

Bobby knelt by her face, brushing her blonde hair gently from her face. "Sophie? It's me, Bobby. You got a nasty bump on your head and a bunch o' glass in your back. I need you to stay still for me, alright?"

Groggy, her eyes slightly unfocused, Sophia turned her head to the bearded man. "Bobby? What… why am I on your kitchen table? And when was the last time you dusted, old man?"

Bobby grinned. "You're gonna be just fine." He laughed softly. "What did you get yourself into this time, idjit?" Despite his rough words, his tone was fond.

Sophia blinked, her eyes drooping tiredly. "Um… demon… I think…."

Sighing, Bobby ran a hand over his face. "I'm gonna finish cleaning you up, alright? Just stay still."

Sophia nodded, then winced, a hand moving towards her head. Bobby caught it quickly. "Don't touch. Just stay still for a minute. Do you need something for the pain?"

Sophia shrugged, her eyes shutting. "Head hurts… 'm tired, Bobby." Though bobby came out more like 'b-by' than anything else.

Bobby nodded. "You probably have yourself a concussion. Just take a rest. I'll wake you in a bit. Can you stay still for me, though?"

Sophia gave a soft affirmative, her eyes dropping.

Worried, Bobby pulled her hair away from the back of the head. He brushed his hand against the rather ugly looking bump at the back of her head, noticing the small pieces of glass she had imbedded in her head. He had been wondering if he should call the paramedics, but her clarity of mind had him thinking better of it. Sophia never did do well in hospitals. She tended to do the opposite really. Too many harsh memories.

Carefully, with a pair of tweezers, Bobby began picking glass from her head, stitching up the larger cuts carefully and watching Sophia for any reaction. She was good at hiding pain, but every once in a while her hand would tense and she would whimper, before cutting it back.

He smiled at her gently. "You're tough as nails, kid."

She gave a half hearted laugh. "Yeah yeah. Just… get it over with."

Bobby nodded, gently continuing to work.

He had to cut her jeans up to mid thigh to get some of the smaller glass pieces, glad the majority of the glass was at her back rather than her hindquarters. That would have scarred them both for life.

Midway through cutting away her shirt, Bobby noticed how she dropped back off into oblivion, her entire body relaxing. She _would_ be able to sleep through him stitching her up. Though that may have been more to concussion rather than exhaustion. He grimaced, "This is gonna hurt like a mother when you wake up kiddo." Even as he meant it in humor, Bobby's eyes fell closed with mild sickness at the thought of how bad a shape she was in. He worried about her head. An injury like that could put a hunter on the bench for months. He hoped, for her sake, she recovered quickly. He hoped the same for his sake, because that girl had a temper more ferocious than a kicked hornets nest, and that did not bode well for him and his house if he had to lock her down on light duty.

At the last stitch, the clock turned to 6:47, and the evening sunshine began to fade from his house. He washed the blood from his hands, debating moving the girl from her place. He gently nudged her shoulder, waking her softly. "Sophie? Hey, darlin'. You wanna go to a bedroom?"

She blinked a couple of times, thinking seeming to take it all out of her. Bobby felt dread pool over him. Then she answered, with mild humor. "But the table's so comfy." Her voice was strained and gravelly, but Bobby felt relief wash over him at the sarcasm there.

Gently, he patted her on her uninjured shoulder, smiling back at her. "Don't you get smart with me. Let's get you to your room."

Carefully, he pulled her arm over his shoulders, keeping the backs of her legs and back from touching the table as much as possible. She grimaced, her lips white from pain. "You got something for the pain, Bobby?"

He nodded, reaching for the vodka. "Best pain killer there is."

She smiled, the took quick drag straight from the bottle, grimacing sharply. "I think I'd rather have tylenol, but knowing you, you probably don't…" She trailed off, her eyebrows drawing together, before she dropped the bottle, catching hold of the front of his shirt. "Ugh. Too much thinking. Bed." The alcohol spilled out with a quiet _glug_ and neither paused to worry with the growing pool.

Grinning softly, Bobby moved her to the nearest bedroom. He helped her stretch out on her front, her face pressed into a pillow.

"That good enough for you, kiddo?"

Sophia waved him away with something mumbled into the pillow that sounded a lot like 'go away', reaching for the blankets and pulling them up and over her head.

The fear that had been building when she had knocked out the second time faded. "I'll come wake you in a couple of hours, Soph. Make sure your noggin's still screwed on right."

From under the blankets, she mumbled something, before the blankets tightened slightly over her head.

The door clicked closed behind him as Bobby moved to sit on the couch in his living room.

That had been one of the hardest things of his life. Seeing her in such a terrible condition had shaken him. He poured himself some whiskey, staring at the book he had been reading with unfocused eyes, lost in thought.

Though he would deny it to anyone who asked, Bobby's drink spilt over the edges from how hard he jumped when his phone began to ring. That was a testament to how badly he was shaken up by Sophia's condition. He raised the phone to his ear, clearing his throat. "Hello?" He may have come off a tad more gruff than usual, if that was possible.

A voice crackled to life across the phone line, sounding grave. "Bobby, it's Dean." There was a slight pause as if he were waiting for some sort of answer.

Bobby, being Bobby, prompted with an eye roll. "Well?"

"Did Sophia make it to your place?"

Setting his drink down, Bobby sat forward, eyebrows coming together. "How do _you_ know Soph?"

Dean sounded slightly desperate, "Bobby! Did she make it or not?"

Blinking away the confusion at their knowing each other, Bobby answered, in a stammer, "Uh, yeah, Dean. Yeah. She made it." He paused, thinking back to the condition she had been on when he pulled her from the truck. "She's been through hell and back."

Dean sighed in relief, before saying, softly, "Turn on the news. Local channels should get it."

Fumbling slightly, Bobby flipped onto the news channel, sitting forward.

" _Yesterday a tragic event occurred."_ A woman wearing an odd pant suit stood in front of a diner… Sophia's diner. It was a charred mess, roped off by police tape and being hosed down by firemen. " _A gas leak caused an explosion that is thought to have killed everyone inside, however, authorities believe it was no accident….They believe that there was a robbery that took place. Four are confirmed dead. Sheriff Matthew Wells, Caroline Martin, Angila Sprite and Jared Moore. The owner is said to have left town near noon yesterday on a hunting trip and has not yet been reached by authorities…."_

Bobby switched off the sound, tipping back the rest of the whiskey in his glass. The image of the diner Sophia had put so many years into laying in charred waste had him shaking. He was just glad. Glad Sophia was safe and sound, asleep in his spare room. With anger in his voice equaling none other, he growled out, "What did this, Dean?"

Dean's voice was shaky. "I'm not exactly sure. Sophia called earlier… she wasn't making a whole lot of sense. She okay?"

Bobby nodded as he answered, pouring another drink. "She had a nasty bump on the head. Knocked her out. She was talking. She's gonna be fine, but she's… a little out of it."

"Well, all I got out of it was that Sam was in danger and there was a demon…."

Bobby interrupted harshly, "Sam? Is he alright?!"

Dean's voice was grave, "He's fine. But it got his girlfriend. Jess. Same way it killed Mom."

Bobby tossed back the drink, closing his eyes. "This is a fine mess."

"Tell me about it." Dean sounded exhausted, then his tone changed entirely, as if he were hiding his conversation. "What? You don't have bacon? What kind of diner are you?"

 _Click._

The phone clicked off and Bobby growled out in exasperation. "Well, goodbye to you too. Idjit."


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N Hey guys! This chapter is a little slow, but it has it's high points! College sure has kept us busy, but Summer is on the horizon! We haven't forgotten about you guys! Thanks for reading and we hope you like it! Please enjoy and, as always, Read and Review!)

Sophia, that day, slept for two hours at a time, Bobby waking her and forcing her to drink water, hold a conversation, _and_ use the restroom no matter how many times she cussed him from beneath the blankets.

Most of their conversations went much like this.

Two hours ago, Bobby had forced her awake given her a large drink of water. Now, he was nudging her shoulder gently, his voice gruff, like every time he woke her, with anxiety. "Soph. You gotta wake up, Darlin'."

Sophia grumbled under her breath.

"Now, don't be like that. Get on up. You need…"

Sophia rolled over giving him the sharpest, most annoyed glance that one person could hold. _If looks could kill._ Her voice broke with anger. "What I _need,_ is for ya to shut yer trap, and _let me sleep."_

Bobby smiled in relief. She was okay if she still had that mouth on her. "Come on, girl. Get on up. I know you have to use the porcelain throne."

She gave him a dubious look, letting a long string of cuss words, sitting up. "If I p*ss myself, Bobby, so _help me._ "

Bobby chuckled, offering her an arm. She glared for a long moment, before sighing, "Sh*t. Fine." Pulling her arm up and over his shoulder, she used him as a crutch, cursing him, the uneven floor, the demon who put her in the shape she was in, and everything else that agitated her… which was pretty much everything with the state she was in.

Sophia didn't function well without sleep. She functioned even _worse_ when people woke her from her sleep. And when Bobby forced her to move, she wanted nothing more than to shove her foot so far up his rear end that it came out of his mouth. Didn't matter if he _did_ do it all for her health. Health be d*mned.

And Sophia was _not_ shy in letting him know exactly how she felt, either.

But as days passed, Sophia was allowed to sleep through the night. As such, her foul temper was soothed and she and Bobby got back to the playful banter that usually plagued their day to day lives.

Life went on, her and Bobby sharing the load of answering calls for fellow hunters and reading up on lore. Until the day Bobby went on a grocery run with strict instructions for her _not_ to leave the house.

To be fair, when he said house, Sophia mostly assumed he meant property, seeing as his house spilled out into his yard with all the monster killing _junk._

She had been on Singer's version of bed-rest, where she was allowed to move when and only when Bobby was around. But, in the last few days, Sophia had been feeling stronger. More able. Her mind was back to it's same witty shape and she barely ached.

For the last month, her questions about her beloved truck had been avoided like the plague, Bobby never quite looking her in the eye when he answered with, "Don't worry about it."

Well, she _did_ worry about it. More than she worried about herself. So today was the day she was going to look at her truck.

Bracing herself on the arm of the dingy couch that had become her makeshift bed for the last couple of days, Sophia pulled herself to a standing position, favoring her stitched leg and leaning hard against the couch. Books littered the ground and she took great cares to avoid the hazards that filled Bobby's living room. Sophia had nagged him for days about picking up the clutter and _junk_ but his response had been a rather amused huff of, "Don't get up and you won't have to worry about it." It was like he was _trying_ to agitate her with every breath. Yes, her house was a little messy, with hunter clutter all over just for the sake of accessibility… but _this_ was chaos. A controlled sort of chaos that only Bobby understood… that Sophia had been forced to understand from growing up in the mess.

The stacks were situated in different parts of his home. Monsters in the living room. Demon's in the study, witches and ghosts were in the spare room, and everything else was in the disorganized, dusty, and disarrayed room he called his 'library'. In every room there were random assortments of weapons and sigils. But what was the use when you couldn't find what you needed when you needed it? She had asked that of him one time and his exact response was, "I know where it is. That's all that matters, isn't it? Don't worry about it."

She couldn't really argue with that. … Though the phrase 'don't worry about it' was grinding her nerves.

So, it was with that lost battle fresh in her mind that she worked her way at an excruciatingly slow pace towards the front door.

The amount of accomplishment she felt at reaching the door brought a smile to her lips. "Heck yeah."

She half waddled, half hopped onto the porch, bracing herself on the door-frame then hopping to the hand railing nearest the stairways. She wobbled slightly, her breath coming fast from exertion. It was strange, how easily she was out of breath. She was used to hard days, but knock her in the head a little too hard, and she was ruined.

Brushing the thoughts away sharply, Sophia glanced up, searching for the truck that had been one of the few links to life she had.

Her heart hit her toes.

The front in was dented in, the front passenger tire bent up and over some twisted piece of metal, the windshield was shattered, but still in place… all in all, most of it looked like it was purely body work that with a few buffs and a ton of elbow grease, she could probably have the old Chevy up and running in a few weeks once she was up and running herself.

In the gusto to get down the steps and check out her favorite vehicle, Sophia forgot one of the more significant rules of having stitches on the back of your leg, random onslaughts of dizzy spells, and walking across the uneven wood of a splintering porch. Always watch your step.

Her left foot, the weak one, caught on a board, her right foot catching the left in an attempt to righten herself which more, caused her to trip. Her hands slipped from the railing and all Sophia could do was yell, "Aw, sh*t" and take a rather ungraceful tumble down the stairs.

Out of instinct, Sophia threw her arms around her recently injured head and just let herself roll down the splintering wood steps and onto the dirt, grunting when she hit the ground hard enough to knock her breath out.

She relaxed, then, letting out a long, slow breath. "Well that could have been worse." She grinned, relishing in her luck. She hadn't hit her head and hadn't managed to break a leg. And her stitches were…

She pulled a searching hand away from the back of her leg, groaning when she saw blood. Her stitches were _shot._ She let an exasperated groan, then tensed, not from pain, but from a sound that struck fear into her very soul.

Because there was _nothing_ like the anger of Bobby Singer.

And he had just pulled up in his car.

"Sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t _sh*t._ " Pulling herself up by her arms, Sophia maneuvered herself up and onto the bottom step, pulling herself up by the railing and hopping up the stairs. She heard a car door slam and, with her eyes widening in desperation, she plopped down onto the rusted metal chair that sat next to the door of Bobby's house.

Sophia tucked the bleeding appendage under herself, glancing towards the large, rather agitated man as he barreled his way towards her, his eyes glinting with anger. "Just _what_ do you think you're doing?"

Scrambling to hold his attention from the blood that was now slipping down her leg, Sophia gave the first, half question, half answer she could think of. "Getting some fresh air?"

Under his beard, Bobby gave a rather displeased huff, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, and my name's Carl. What the h*ll, Sophia?"

Shrugging in nonchalance, Sophia tucked her leg a little farther back. "Well, um… I was… it…"

His eyes widened and she knew _instantly_ that she had been caught. "Is that _blood?!_ Why the h*ll are you bleeding, Sophia?" Then his eyes went dark and he dropped his groceries on a nearby table, growling, "If you tore those stitches, Sophia, so help me!" He pulled her gently, despite his obvious anger, into a standing position, glancing to the back of her leg with trepidation.

Bobby had lived a long life. And much of his life he had spent around hunters, mechanics, and military men. He was considered a knowledgeable man, well read and a great hunting companion. But when it came down to it, hanging around the people he had for years had rubbed off on him.

To put it lightly, Bobby Singer could cuss more colorfully, in more languages, with more foulness than _any_ sailor.

He showed his color when he saw the blood seeping from the deep wound in the back of Sophia's leg.

Sophia, if she hadn't been so scared, would have started jotting down some of the more colorful words in his vocabulary. But, she _was_ scared. Because nothing was worse than an angry Bobby. Sophia would rather face spiders and demons - better yet, _demon spiders_ \- than she would face the wrath of her pretty much adoptive father.

To say the least, between the two nests of angry hornets, Bobby Singer managed to get Sophia back into working order, and Sophia managed not to kill her adoptive father who she continuously reminded herself was someone she wasn't supposed to hate.

Sophia never had done well being trapped. Be it for her health or otherwise.

It was when Sophia began to organize and move his things that first alerted Bobby to the fact that if he didn't allow her out of his house soon, she would begin to tear it down. She hardly slept, barely ate, and the longer she stayed, the more agitated she became. Bobby knew it had more do to with her past than it did her injuries. The memory ached when he thought of her, nearly eleven years ago, a skinny mess with wide eyes and covered in filth. She couldn't stand to be trapped from that day on. She refused to put locks on her closet doors still to this day.

It was for that reason that Bobby had given her the tools she needed to get her truck up and running a week earlier than he thought best, mostly because she could hardly stand another moment locked inside and if he wasn't careful, she would disappear into the world of hunting half healed and at risk.

So, it was with that in mind, that Bobby had hatched a plan. He had two people in mind that he knew would have Sophia's back. He called their daddy, letting him in on the pattern and asked him to send his boys out, without letting John know he'd be sending his own girl as backup. He would give her the tip and she'd get some unexpected backup. It was better than her going into something alone. She shouldn't be alone on any hunt, but after her brother just up and ran off, she hadn't had much of a choice.

So, with a nudge here and there, Bobby pushed Sophia towards a tip. Young couples were disappearing from the map, somewhere near Burkittsville, Indiana.

That morning, Sophia woke up, having slumped over on the couch only three hours ago, to Bobby standing over her with a stern, agitated expression.

"Alright, ya idjit. Up. _Up!_ " His voice was more stern than his words, but there was something under his tone that had her doing as he asked. Concern.

She blinked at his hands filled with a coffee cup and a plate of food. Hash-browns, eggs, bacon, biscuits, gravy, and, her favorite, jelly. Sophia's eyebrows drew together, a small, confused smile on her lips as she rose, still favoring her slightly sore leg, and took the plate and black, unsweetened coffee from his hand. "Bobby?"

He grumbled and rested a large hand on her shoulder, guiding her to the kitchen, his voice gruff. "You haven't been eating, and I'm down right sick of it. So, eat."

Sophia was smiling for a moment before she turned to the kitchen, then felt a wave of discomfort fill her. That feeling on being unable to move. Unable to run. Unable to breathe. She cleared her throat, before shaking that thought away and sitting in the chair, basking in the light shining from the large windows. She planned on working outside again today, even if the impending clouds promised rain. Staying locked away inside, even with things to do, made her uncomfortable.

Bobby grumbled again, pushing the plate towards her with stern eyes. "Eat."

She smiled, and shoved a forkful of food in her mouth, watching him in curiosity. "What's got your panties in a bunch, Bob?"

Chuckling softly, he leaned forward, splaying a hand on the table. "You. You've been moping around here for two weeks, as if I had you locked up or something. You haven't been eating. You haven't been sleeping. You take showers long enough. Do you even have skin left on your arms?"

Sophia shoveled another mouthful of food in her mouth so she didn't have to answer. The fact was, she was rather raw from how often she showered. But it was to wash the memories off her skin, more than it was anything else. Jared had been her trusted friend. Angila had been a sweet girl. The ropes around her arms… Sophia blinked that away, quickly, her stomach turning. The food tasted like ash in her mouth.

Bobby watched her with deepening concern, then leaned forward, handing her a map. "I've got a job for you, darlin'. You gotta get out of this house."

Chewing slowly, Sophia began to nod. "Where?"

Bobby cracked a small smile, giving her the details of the deaths, pulling up records of pagan gods and their memos. It was a Vanir. And it was ugly. The only way to kill it was to get past the armed, animated effigy. It promoted prosperity and fertility. Funny how it destroyed couples in the process.

Sophia gave a soft laugh. "Seem's counterproductive, don't ya think, Bob?"

Bobby gave her a half inspired chuckle. "Yeah. I can see that."

Laughing softly, Sophia sat back against her chair, taking another sip from her coffee. "Why are you all gungho about this anyhow? Weren't you the one asking me to lie low and take some time off just a week ago? And now you're…"

Bobby's expression fell. "Soph… I know you. You've been hangin' around my place since you were 10 years old. You need a job, and I have one. This house ain't doin' nothin' for ya, except turnin' yer hair grey."

Eyes narrowing, Sophia asked, "What's that supposed to mean."

He chuckled. "Get out of here, ya paranoid rascal. 'Fore I give someone else the job."

Nothing else needed said as she jumped to her feet, snagging her _always_ packed duffel bag and shouting back. "See ya, you old fart!"

And Bobby would have smiled if he hadn't seen the slight limp in her step. Under his breath, he whispered, "stay safe, Sophia." Because he couldn't do anything but _hope_ she would return. Because she is a hunter. And that's a way of life.


	6. Chapter 6

(A/N Hey guys! This one is more fun. We get to see our first glimpse of the real, unfiltered, out-of-polite-society Sophia. Our finals are over so we hope to post more frequently. Thanks, as always, for reading!)

Sophia, however, was close to _skipping_ with the amount of excitement rolling through her. For the first time in a month, Sophia felt _free._

The truck came to life with a roar and she smiled, cranking up the radio, screaming at the top of her lungs to the song, Zombie by The Cranberries. The CD had been the bane of her brother's existence, but it had still survived, and refused to be ejected from the player. So, it was radio, aux, or the calling songs of Dolores O'Riordan and her crew.

Sophia threw her head back, calling with the chorus of one of her favorite songs in a mournful way, wishing her brother was at her side. Wishing the song didn't call so deeply to her heart and her memory. Wishing the story wasn't so real. Because we were fighting ourselves. Our own people are fighting against themselves, all while the real monsters hid in the shadows and prayed on our strong. Our weak. Our ignorance.

The song finished mournfully and Sophia grinned, flipping the radio stations absently. When all that played was perfect static, Sophia pulled out her touchscreen phone that she mostly only used for two things. Keeping in touch with Bobby, and _music._ She plugged her phone in, clicked on pandora and rolled down the windows, grinning into the window. After a month of research and quiet, calm conversation, music was a relief.

And then, the first words of the song crackled to life over her stereo system, which had been, when purchased, a little over her and her brother's budget.

But it was so worth it.

Full voiced and a tad pitchy, but still on tune, Sophia began to laugh out the lyrics to one of her favorite classics in pure bliss.

 _One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock_

 _Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock_

 _Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock_

 _We're gonna rock around the clock tonight_

Sophia giggled, not caring how childish she may sound as her voice cracked and popped under the strain of singing full voiced and fighting the wind pushing against her. She ignored the strands of hair that flew into her mouth and over he eyes, simply calling out the words to the music with gusto and mirth.

The back truck window vibrated as the bass roared and she plowed down the road, ignoring the speed limits and slowing down _only_ when her police scanner gave a ding of warning. Sophia may have a reckless spirit, but she wasn't _stupid_. This way an 11 hour drive could go by in near half the time. And the movie, Taxi, had given her a couple of ideas on how to inconspicuously change her plates. Queen Latifah was her _idol_ from that movie. At least, her taxi was.

As the time ticked by, the eleven hours to Indiana became more like an eight and a half as Sophia gunned the engine of her truck, which some would call a sleeper and others would call a menace. The sun was rising to its full potential before she pulled off the road for the first time, humming the tune to "Earth Angel" under her breath. She locked the doors to her well loved, red interiored chevy truck, and walked into the gas station. She snatched up a bundle of bananas, saltine crackers, a small jar of peanut butter, and a pack of water. As she was walking through the aisles with her arms full, her eyes caught on the box of lucky charms standing proudly next to a box filled with honey buns. Without a second thought, she snagged up the two and pushed towards the counter of the near empty gas station. The cashier rang her up with a bored expression, her eyes heavy and tone snarky and sharp as she spoke, as if she was asking for a fight. "Is that _all_ you want?"

Sophia took a deep breath, biting her tongue to keep from listing the things this woman could shove up her _*ss._ Bobby said she needed to be working on her anger management skills.

Her tone was a tad too sharp, though, as she pulled out a hundred dollar bill and growled, "Yeah, that's all I want. Put the rest of it on pump five, yeah?"

The woman quirked an eyebrow, then, in a snarky voice, said, "Yeah."

Sophia rolled her eyes, snagging up her catch and her receipt. She didn't offer a thanks, just pulled her haul passed the swinging doors and to her truck across the parking lot, still humming the chorus to "Earth Angel" as she pushed her stuff into the cab of her truck and then pumped the first tank full of gas. Sophia tapped her foot in agitation as the pump filled her truck. She snacked on a banana absently, watching the meter on the pump flick up to fifty dollars, before she pulled the pump free and filled up the secondary tank. She tossed the banana peel onto the ground, near the trash can, glaring at the woman at the front desk who narrowed her eyes. The pump quit with a soft hiss, and Sophia put on the final cap.

Lifting her hand in a single, middle fingered salute, Sophia gave a churlish grin and hopped into her truck, and burning rubber out of the parking lot and cranking up the speakers as another oldie played in the background. "Jump in the Line" roared to life over the speakers and Sophia screamed with it, shifting gears and roaring down the road, only slowing down when her police scanner gave warning.

"La Bamba" was playing at full volume from her speakers when she rounded on the road, her large truck groaning slightly as it took the turn.

Slamming on her breaks, Sophia yelped, "Oh, sh*t" sharply, staring wide eyed at the tall, shaggy haired man who stood in the middle of her lane. He had a hand pressed on her hood, and he looked a mix between angry at the world, and hopeful for a ride. His other hand was wrapped around the strap of a portfolio sort of bag and he was sporting a rather warm coat.

 _Yo no soy marinero_

 _Yo no soy marinero, soy capitan_

 _Soy capitan, soy capitan_

 _Bamba, bamba_

 _Bamba, bamba_

 _Bamba, bamba, bam_

Sophia grinned, humming the tune as she slowly turned down the radio, quirking an eyebrow at the tall man, who had to stoop to look into her window. She gave him a half genuine grin. "You know, walking in the middle of the road may well be a death sentence."

The man huffed in humor. "Yeah, well…."

She was reminded for a moment of her brother, and she softened. "Where ya headed?"

"California. You?" He pulled back, looking more hopeful.

Sophia shook her head in ruefulness. "Ah. Sorry. Going the opposite direction."

He nodded, "I figured." It was then, though, that a thought flashed over his expression. "You don't happen to be passing through Burkittsville, do you?"

Suspicion filled Sophia to the brim. And being the paranoid person she was, she lied by habit. "No? Why?"

He seemed awfully relieved, nodding shortly. "Nothing. Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Shrugging, Sophia cranked up the radio, quirking an eyebrow when the large man didn't back off her truck. He laughed, raising his hands and lifting his hands as if in surrender. "Alright, alright! Stay safe!" He shouted over the radio, laughing softly. "You're just like my brother."

With a lazy wave, Sophia struck the truck into gear and spun the tires, filling the air with white smoke, laughing sharply as she tore down the road, "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" playing at full volume.

She'd need tires soon if she didn't stop driving like a maniac, but the look on his face in her rearview mirror had her laughing. "Worth it."

Gunning it down the road, Sophia saw a black Impala. A hard top, with the windows down, running rather slowly. Sophia glanced down at the speedometer, then laughed again. Or, he was running the speed limit, and she was going 40 miles over. But with the straight, flat ground of Indiana, how could she _not_ speed.

Now, don't go thinking she was a menace. Sophia was careful. She'd slow down when others pulled onto the road. She never took towns at full speed, putted through parking lots, and was extremely watchful. She had her fair share of races just for the heck of it, and didn't mind having a few extra dollars in the bank. So imagining the muscle car, slick and black, falling back as if still was just too much, and Sophia couldn't help herself. Watching carefully, Sophia flung her truck into the opposing lane, roaring passed the impala, laughing to the words of "Splish Splash", her tires kicking of a soft spray from the wet road as she changed back into her lane. She could see the man throwing up a hand, and felt rather sure that he had just flipped her off. Today was going to be a good day.

Passing the "Welcome Burkittsville" sign, Sophia turned down the roaring music, slowing tremendously, looking over the too clean streets and the well washed windows. There was no movement. And, more importantly, it was the first town she had seen for miles. The dried, scorched grass had turned green, the orchards tall and proud over the flat land. This place was most definitely blessed… cursed.


	7. Chapter 7

(A/N Two chapters in the span of an hour! Surprise. This is our favorite chapter so far, but there is so much we have planned. Have a happy Summer!)

Sophia pulled off the road nearest a tall cedar tree by some quaint church, barely noticing the should be shade with how cloud covered and rainy it was, the cool barely phasing her. She had spent the second half of her life in South Dakota, after all. Cold weather hardly phased her anymore. Though when she was younger, she could hardly stand it. Snow had been her least favorite form of precipitation up until the day Bobby had showed her how to make a snowman.

Watching carefully, Sophia took in the quaint way the town fit together. The perfect paint jobs on the perfect houses. There were no cars parked outside the houses, and few filling the car ports. It was almost like no one came or went. There was a store and a diner, connected to the gas station all lined up with pristine white exteriors and swept concrete.

Sophia switched off pandora and flicked on the radio, slowly sweeping through radio stations in curiosity. She was even _more_ confused when only static roared to life over her speakers. And when she finally did find a station, it played the equivalent of elevator music. _That_ was comforting. What sort of town didn't have music? Or a radio station? Or something? The wordless and very much _not_ classical music was grating and she turned off the radio quickly, leaning back in her seat. With a gusty sigh, Sophia whispered, "Well, that's just _weird."_

It was then that she saw the tommy gun resting on the baseboard of the truck. "And _that's_ safe." She rolled her eyes before pulling a jacket from her duffle and wrapping it so that no one would see it, though she wondered if the people in this town could even care. She hopped from the truck and moved to the back to flip up the tri fold truck bed cover, laying the gun inside before pulling herself up and over the tailgate, her right foot pushing against the hitch, and bouncing to a standing position in the red interior of her truck. It was beat up, scratched, and dusty, but the cover kept most of the weather from ruining the three tool chests spaced out in the long bed. She pushed back the trifold a second time, sitting on the lattice, metal top of the first tool chest and opening the middle one.

She fiddled with the lock for a moment, having lost the key years ago and relying heavily on her ability to pick it. If all else failed, the other tool chest, the one she _had_ a key for, had bolt cutters in it. It creaked open without a hitch and she placed her new gun alongside her favorites. There was a sawed off, pump action shotgun… that was slightly illegal, but only used on ghost hunts, so she didn't think it should really condemn her as a criminal, a bolt action, long range rifle she had jokingly named "Stringbean" when she was younger - much younger. Stringbean had been her first gun, by way of Bobby Singer at the age of 13 - and three or four handguns. Under it all, however, was her brother's gun. A buck mark.

Tucking the tommy into a slot specially designed to hold nearly any sized gun, Sophia grinned softly. There would be a time when she would take that baby for a spin. But right now, she'd settle for it being tucked away in the bed of her truck.

Sophia pulled a remington from the case and tucked it into the holster beneath her oversized jacket, shutting and locking the gun box and closing the fold down bed cover with a grunt of effort. It weighed enough to not get knocked around by the wind and was pliable enough not to warp with speed her truck contained under its unassuming exterior.

Now that her legal - because of the permits she had - gun that would have others asking questions was hidden, Sophia resumed watching the run of the town that seemed _too_ perfect. Sophia was internally cringing at the thought of her gun laying haphazardly in the floorboards had… it was too good of a gun to lay on the floor. It had been a gift from Jarry.

That same black impala from the road eased by, and Sophia grinned. She _recognized_ him! And he was flipping her off! _Again._ That was Dean. And he looked straight ahead, not turning his head in the slightest, and threw up his right hand over the passenger seat, middle finger shining.

Laughing, Sophia climbed from her truck, not stepping down and out of the cab, but rather hanging from the top and watching the back of his head as he pulled off the road and parked by the cafe. He didn't even glance back to her truck, too wound up in his thoughts. It was funny, in a way, that he hadn't recognized her. At least… she didn't think he did.

Huffing at the wet ground because she wasn't truly done observing the town, Sophia hopped down from her perch and walked towards his car which, as she approached, she realized was not really parked in an out of the way place. It was so big it simply took up the whole lane. He hopped out of his car before she got close enough to confront him, cutting the engine and slamming the creaking door shut.

People were moving through the rain, but it was still oddly quiet. As though people were afraid to disturb the calm. Umbrellas were up and shielding people from the rain.

It was drizzling, and cool, but Sophia wasn't fazed, taking in his long strides and the way his collar was pushed up. Not in a way to keep water from his neck, but pressed awkwardly upwards with a slight crease at the middle. From the back it looked ridiculous, but she figured it was one of those fashion faux pas that she would never understand.

In tall leather boots with her jeans half tucked in to keep from getting wet, Sophia walked carelessly towards his car, through the water and mud. She didn't really care. The day she started to care about how dry her boots were was the day they drug her off to be buried. Because, honestly, who wants to be buried six feet under in dirty boots?

It was then that Sophia had a true internal debate. Dean, when they had last met, had been rather fond of his car. Scary fond. The question was, is Dean the sort who would murder someone who dropped a fry in the cab of his car or drug muddy feet on the floor mats? Or is he the sort to only murder when it came to the big things. Like the paint job and overall functionality of his Impala.

She pondered that for a moment, then muttered, "Skrew it." She pulled the passenger door open quietly, watching to see if Dean recognized the sound. Crawling across the seat, keeping her feet carefully suspended over the floor mats, Sophia cranked down the windows just enough to hear the soon to become conversation.

Dean's sauntering footsteps slowed and Sophia felt as though she had won a jackpot. Dean was stooping over slightly, peering down at an uncomfortable looking man who had been minding his business just a few moments ago. Dean's tone was near patronizing as he said, "Let me guess. Scotty?"

The man didn't seem amused by his quick wit as he - Scotty - glanced up at the sign hanging in front of his cafe, hands clasped lazily in front of him. "Yep."

He offered no more, but Dean didn't need prompting as he hopped right into an introduction. "Hi. My name is John Bonham."

Sophia groaned, rolling her eyes, and muttering under her breath, "Really, Dean. What did you do? Take the first name off of the last album you saw?" She said in half annoyance and half humor. Sophia fiddled with the music player, curious if he was in fact…

"Isn't that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?" Sophia laughed, glancing back at the man and just _wishing_ she could see the look on Dean's face.

The surprise in Dean's voice had her grinning again. "Wow. Good. Classic-Rock fan."

At this point, Sophia was practically rolling with amusement, shaking her head. Hasselhoff sure knew how to get into trouble.

Scotty didn't seem near as amused as Sophia was, but his words were garbled as a woman carrying groceries passed, the crunching of the paper bag distracting her. She watched her carefully, then glanced back towards the convenience store the woman had just left. It was across the way. A girl, maybe sixteen, stood in the window, looking bored.

The kid was the only thing that looked out of place in the entire town. She seemed too real. The others looked as though everything they went through from day to day was rehearsed. As if they were all playing house and being perfectly perfect. No town could go a day without some sort of real conversation. And as much as Burkittsville reminded her of home in everything except the way the people acted, it simply didn't sit right with her. Twin Brooks was a close to perfect as you could get without getting weird. Burkittsville was just creepy.

Curiosity welled inside of Sophia as she glanced around Dean's car, wantering if poking the bear was worth an adrenaline rush, when the bear was a man with hyper reflexes, a weapon's arsenal, and a possible vendetta against the girl who had almost gotten his brother killed.

The thought of the circumstances surrounding her and Dean's last encounter made Sophia cringe, her overpowering good mood fading drastically. Sophia then began to nose her way through the car, looking for anything interesting enough to hold her attention as Dean was busy probably finding out less than she had discovered by just watching the town and doing the research. Dean had a cooler of beer, and a bag of half eaten cheetos sitting in the front. There was an assortment of easy to reach weapons in the back seat and, despite all the junk, there was very little dust and dirt on the dash and the steering wheel was well worn and loved.

Snacking on some cheetos and glancing at the beer longingly, Sophia pilfered through his stuff, opening the glovebox and messing with the music within, curious and not exactly disappointed. Sophia loved most music. As long as she could understand it and it didn't leave her blushing from the implications, she tended to enjoy it. After organizing the music based on genre just from curiosity, Sophia began her search for a music port, curious as to if she could listen to some of her own favorites over the stereo.

When she didn't find one, Sophia turned the power to the radio and ejected the CD with a curious eye. It was Led Zepplin. Of course. "Stairway to Heaven" was on the list of songs, so she shrugged and pressed it back into the player, switching through them.

She had been midway through searching when she heard angry footsteps near the car. With wide eyes, Sophia hopped to the driver's seat just as a man threw open the passenger door looking _p*ssed._

"Son of a _b*tch!_ Who the h*ll are you?" Dean's voice crackled into the car and Sophia squeaked, though she would deny that to _anyone_ who asked, in a startled way, dropping the cheeto she had been holding. "What the h*ll are you doing in _my car?!"_

Feeling slightly miffed and overly agitated, Sophia rolled her eyes. "Good to see you too, Dean. Yeah, I'm doing well! Completely healed from the demon attack, by the way. Thanks for asking. How are you?" Her sarcasm could have melted plastic.

That caught his attention and Dean went from reaching for a gun to looking her dead in the eye. His green eyes widened, and Sophia smirked. "Sophia?!"

"Naw… it's the boogeyman." Feeling overly chipper, now that he finally acknowledged her, Sophia grinned, "Hiya, Deano!"

A little grin pulled at his lips, though he looked mostly surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Rolling her eyes, she gestured to the truck parked down the road under the large cedar tree. "I was here first."

That look on his face was priceless. "You're the son of a b*tch that passed me back on the road? What the heck, Sophia? Don't you think that was a little… I don't know… reckless?"

"Pft!" Sophia was laughing again, "I've been driving since I was 11 years old. Had a car before I owned a gun. Of course it was me! And more like _daughter_ of a b*tch, though if you talk about my momma like that again I may have to slap you."

Dean was smiling now, shaking his head. "What do you have under the hood of that thing?"

Sophia shrugged, placing the CD's back into the glovebox where she found them. "Some illegal _sh*t_."

It was then that Dean caught sight of the mess of music spilled over the seat of the car. "You touched my stuff!" It was more like a whine than an accusation.

"You were gone. I was bored." Sophia leaned down to pick up the cheeto she dropped, tossing it out the open door Dean stood in. "You touch your _stuff,"_ she wiggled her eyebrows, "when you're bored." Sophia smirked up at him, as she leaned back to rest against the driver's door, watching as he quirked an eyebrow, before snickering. "But I was intrigued by your music selection. Tells a lot about you."

"Like what?"

"It tells me…" She paused for dramatic affect. "That you are an overgrown angsty teenager."

"I'm not a teenager!" If he wasn't so amused, he might have looked offended. "What do you listen too." He seemed bored with stooping in the rain, and pulled himself into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed.

"Grown, sophisticated, adult music." Sophia was outright grinning at this point. "So, where's the next stop. The creepy Orchard we passed on the way in?" She started the engine, gesturing for him to buckle up.

Dean almost did, much to Sophia's amusement, before he did a double take, his eyes narrowing. "This is my car. Why are you driving?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Sophia shot back, "You're an angsty teenager, remember? I'm the adult. Seniority!"

He grumbled, "teenager my *ss." Shoving open the door and growling, "Scoot over."

She did so with a little reluctance to let loose of the worn leather of the steering wheel, brushing her thumbs over the chevy crest, cooing, "Maybe one day, ya gorgeous piece of machinery."

Dean, again with that eyebrow, grumbled, "Back off, she's mine."

Sophia flashed a glance to him, purring, "Good thing I'm not a lesbian. Or I'd be all up in her grill."

Dean rolled his eyes at the pun, chuckling, "We're gonna get along _just fine_."

Pushing herself across the way, Sophia made way for Dean and his big shoulders, wiggling in her seat, ready for adventure and feeling a bit too much like a child. When the Impala roared to life, she relaxed back into the smooth leather upholstery.

They drove in silence for a few moments before Dean reached over, turning down the calling songs of Led Zeppelin's lead singer, and glancing towards Sophia with a caution in his eye that she had never seen before. "So, uh, you okay?"

Sophia gazed on, confused for a moment. "Okay? Uh… yeah? I mean, maybe not mentally or emotionally, but what hunter is?"

Dean nodded. "So no lasting effects from the attack, then?"

Realization flashed across her tan face, and her hazel eyes widened. "Oh. That. Yeah, had a pretty nasty concussion. Bobby, well, I don't know how he kept sane with my nagging." There was a long, awkward pause before she huffed out the question that had been building in the back of her mind since the attack. "Is your brother alright?"

At that, Dean let a long suffering sigh. "Yeah. He's alright. Physically, at least. But… well… he's not telling me everything. His girlfriend didn't make it…"

Sophia let a small gasp before she could stop herself, her eyes screwed shut. "Dad-freaking-gummit. I had to go and open my smart *ss mouth." Dean grimaced as her words spilled out. "I'm so sorry, Dean. Your little brother…"

Dean raised a hand to calm her, "Hey. Hey. It's al…"

She growled at him, "Don't ya say i's a'ight, d*mn it! It's not alright! A girl's dead 'cause o' me!" She had a snarl on her lips. "Angie, now that girl… and Jared, and Carolyne and Matt. 'F' _alright_. Why'd I go n' say that! Of all things, I had to tell that demon b*st*rd. Why didn't I make some random sh*t up."

Dean interrupted carefully, "How long were you down for?"

Pausing in her rant, Sophia shrugged, glancing over to those green eyes that had flashed in her direction. "This is my first hunt since the attack. And I'm rather sure Bobby knew I'd have some backup."

Dean turned to her so fast, Sophia wondered if he hurt his neck with the motion. "That's been over a month! How bad off were you?"

Warily, Sophia glanced to the road, "Um… well, he got me three times over the head. Bobby says I had a fork in my leg and glass in my back. Took a while… The concussion was probably the worst. That, and I reopened the stuff on my back falling down the stairs…."

Lifting a hand from the steering wheel, Dean rubbed the back of his neck, his eyebrows drawn. "Did you say _fork_?"

At that, Sophia snorted, leaning back again. "Yep."

"Was that when… you told?" Dean wasn't looking at her, now. Rather, he was paying close attention to the road.

Shaking her head, Sophia rolled her eyes. "No. That b*st*rd threatened to cut lil' Angie's throat… That's when I told…. That girl did nothin' wrong. He killed her. I killed Jared… Shot him with an etched bullet. Exorcised that demon out o' him and… well, I got good aim…."

Dean just shook his head, sighing.

Sophia let a sad grin pull over her lips. "I'm pretty sure 'lose everyone you're attached to' was not included in my Hunter's Ed Class."

"It's in the fine print." Dean was grinning back at her, softly.

Chuckling half-heartedly, Sophia searched her mind for some sort of response when the EMF reader began to whine that high pitch, agitating noise. Sophia grinned over at him, "What'd I tell ya? It's always the corn fields in these places."

Dean laughed. "Orchard. But yeah. It's creepy."

Mischievous, Sophia pushed open the door, calling back, "I'm just glad it's daylight, these things like to do all their hunting at night." She tossed a grin over her shoulder and back to the tall, green eyed man. "Kinda like you, Hasselhoff. Praying on all those _helpless, innocent_ women."

"Ha!" Dean was grinning back. "Innocent and helpless innit my M.O."

Snorting, Sophia shoved off the car, walking towards the orchard. Dean called from behind her, catching up with his longer stride. "Daylight or not, this place gives me the creeps…"

Sophia nodded, "Yeah. And…" She did a double take when she saw the black, wretched figure hanging from a post. "The h*ll is that?!"

Dean glanced to her, eyebrow quirked in amusement. "You never seen a scarecrow before?"

Rolling her eyes, Sophia snarked back, "Ya idjit."

Laughing, Dean sauntered forward. "You _do_ know Bobby." He then paused, wrinkling his nose in disgust, speaking to the scarecrow. "Dude. You fugly."

Sophia grimaced. "That's more than just 'fugly,' Dean. That thing is disgusting with a side of death."

Something seemed to catch Dean's eye, as he lifted a ladder that rested near a large apple tree and placed it near the bottom of the scarecrow. His face twisted slightly with disgust as he gazed at the _thing's_ right arm. "Nice tat."

"Why don't you share with the class, Sherlock?" Sophia pressed herself closer to the ladder, reaching for the paper he held.

Blinking, as if waking up from some distant thoughts, Dean glanced down, chuckling softly. "Yeah. Sorry. It's just that it's a part of this missing - I'ma go with dead - guy."

Sophia nodded, the knowledge clicking into place with the lore she had read up on while she had been at Bobby's. "Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. This thing is a Vanir. An animated effigie that brings prosperity and fertility at a price. Still, as you say, Fugly."

"Heck yeah, you know what it is?" Dean seemed all too happy to get out of research. "How do we kill it? I'd like to get it done ASAP."

Sophia laughed, rolling her eyes, rocking the ladder carefully, "Get down, 'fore ya break yer neck. And, no. Bobby says there are too many variations. Local legends are best."

Groaning, Dean clomped down the ladder. "Great."

"I told you." Sophia's voice chimed in brightly as they walked back to the Impala.

Confused, Dean shot the strawberry blonde woman a look.

She gave him her signature sh*t-eating grin. "Not the college type."

"A'ight, smart*ss. If I'm not the college type, what type does that make you?" He was quirking that smoldering eyebrow.

She smoothed out her shirt, before resting her hands on her honey-thick hips, biting her lip and glancing up at him through her long, natural eyelashes, with doe-like eyes. Her southern accent washed over her words like the sound of wind chimes in an early morning breeze. "A woman. Ain't nothin' betta."

"Oh, really?" He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her tail end a little too long.

She sashayed back to the car, her grin turning mischievous, "Don't ya go thinkin' yer in my league, hon. I'm on a whole 'nother level."

He laughed. "Guess I'll have to level up."

"This ain't no video game. It's more like food. Can't live without it. You can go out and get those cheap single-wrapped gas station pastries. Or spend hours, days, making that home baked pie and eating the whole thing, never havin' ta share." Southern accent still playing with her words, Dean's eyes never leaving her form as she folded herself down into his car. She called out as he walked around it, "An' I don' know about you. But I'm not one for sharin'."

Slightly flushed, Dean settled himself into his car, pressing the key into the ignition as if contemplating something.

Sophia, throwing her head back with laughter, dropped the exaggeration of her accent. "Whatcha thinkin' about over there?"

He grumbled, "Shuddup." He threw the car into drive, peeling out with a large U-turn.

After an awkward silence on Dean's end, as Sophia continued chuckling, she leaned over to the back seat, offering Dean an escape from his, most likely dirty, thoughts. "Got anything to drink back here that ain't alcohol?"

Dean glanced over at her, openly ogling the small strip of pale skin that showed over the top of her dark jeans. When he didn't give an answer, Sophia shot a look over her shoulder, before her hazel eyes widened in fear. " _Dumb*ss! Look at the road!_ "

Dean flicked his gaze back to the road, seeing his baby on the wrong side. He corrected, the tires screeching slightly at the abruptness as he growled out, "Sh*t."

"At least let me live to be killed by the scarecrow. Dadgummit, Dean! I don't want my obituary to say, 'Killed by the dumb*ss."' She grumbled, pulling her shirt down before completely climbing in the back seat, her voice never pausing, "Son of a… oo! Gatorade?" She crouched down, to where Dean couldn't see her in the rearview mirror. "It's fruit punch. Red stains, right Hasselhoff? _Payback!"_

Dean slammed the breaks, "Oh, h*ll no, woman! Don't you dare!"

Mid drink, Sophia snorted, gatorade spilling over her lips as she guwaffed, choking on laughter and gatorade as Dean snarled, snatching up an old, black t-shirt and wiping up the mess as she composed herself.

Tears were streaming down her face as she clutched her stomach, laughing at him as he clucked over the mess like a mother hen. "I'm sorry! I wasn't gonna! Swear! Ya made me _laugh_!" She laughed. "It _buurns!_ "

He growled back, "Good!" he smoothed his hands over the leather interior as Sophia laughed openly. "It's alright baby."

They got in the car and, this time, Sophia stayed in the back despite Dean's objections. Sophia leaned around him, holding up a pair of pink, lacy underwear with two fingers, her face twisted with disgust and humor. "Ah, now see. This explains a lot."

Dean grinned, like a peacock with his tail feathers outstretched.

Sophia nodded, "Crossdresser." Dean choked on an inhale, eyes wide. "Not that I'm judging, I figured they'd be rhinestoned…"

Dean deadpanned. "Those are my brothers."

Sophia, who had been waving the pink things suggestively, completely stopped everything, "You're joking….right?"

Silence reigned for a few moments, and Sophia's face began to twist in confusion and slight disgust, and she tossed the frilly things onto the floor, before Dean's uncontrollable laughter broke the silence.

"Teach you to go through a _mans_ things."

Sophia flicked the lid of her empty gatorade bottle at him, grinning. "So. Gatorade? I saw you more of the 'beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard' sort of guy."

Rolling his eyes, Dean sighed, fiddling with the radio. "That _is_ Sammy's."

Sophia pulled herself back into the Impala, with a slightly apologetic smile. "Your brother? Where's he at?"

Dean grumbled under his breath, pressing the gas as the town approached. "He didn't want to follow orders. Dad sent us on this chase, and Sam was more worried about finding him than he was saving lives."

Sophia turned, giving Dean her undivided attention. "The heck? You aren't soldiers, Deano. Whatcha mean by 'orders'? Who's yer dad, Colonel Sanders?"

Dean gave a half hearted smirk. "Nah. Just Dad being Dad. Been like this since we lost Mom."

Sophia nodded, answering, "Guess I'm lucky that I got out of that parent trap early."


End file.
